


Chance of Survival

by HipsterMerchantOfDeath



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipsterMerchantOfDeath/pseuds/HipsterMerchantOfDeath
Summary: If you happen to see this Fic on Tumblr, Do Not Fear! I didn't steal it, I've been shifting all of my fics from Tumblr to here.





	1. Chance of Survival

**Author's Note:**

> If you happen to see this Fic on Tumblr, Do Not Fear! I didn't steal it, I've been shifting all of my fics from Tumblr to here.

86% would read as a high percentage to just about anybody much less to an Android built specifically to deal with high risk situations. If it wasn’t too high of a risk, his mission to hunt down and stop deviants would always come first. He was not tasked with keeping the officers working alongside him safe.

So, when the deviant drew a gun erratically waving it back and forth, he made the decision to attack and not protect Hank and Detective _________. He decided that an 86% chance of survival for them would have to do. He hadn’t concerned himself with the other 14%. 

Connor wasn’t used to making decisions he wasn’t 100% confident in. Uncertainty conflicted with his programming. But now watching as Hank anxiously tried to stem the steady flow of blood from _________’s wound while her probability for survival dropped rapidly he felt the struggle between his programming and something else. Something that ate away at him every time he saw the percentage drop.

35%…

Guilt?

26%…

But that’s impossible. He didn’t feel guilt. He didn’t feel anything. Well. He wasn’t supposed to.

14%…

Humans don’t read situations in percentages. They can’t run algorithms to determine the probability of success. They can’t calculate the exact outcome of a situation before they act. They can only hope for the best.

So, when Hank told him that she would be okay as paramedics placed in her in the back of the ambulance Connor deemed it more for the Lieutenant’s sake than for his own. Of course, Hank had hope that she would be okay. He didn’t see her life being measured in numbers and honestly in that moment Connor would have given anything to not have to see it either.

1%…


	2. Broken

Connor would have said she looked peaceful if not for the presence of the breathing apparatus and the steady beep of the machines that were keeping her alive. The soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath felt artificial. A constant reminder of that number, that statistic measuring her life.

1%…

He’d read somewhere that talking to someone even if they’re sedated can have a positive effect on their recovery and with that Connor found his new mission. Everyday he would sit by her bedside and tell her about all the things she’d missed. He would be there as soon as visiting hours began and he’d be the last visitor to leave for the day. He talked to her the whole time. He told her about him deviating and joining the revolution, about how androids had gained their freedom, about how Hank was getting better and how everyone at the precinct missed her. He would check everyday, hoping and praying for a change but nothing ever came. The bright red number hung over her head, taunting him.

1%…

Today he had run out of things to say and resorted to just holding her hand. The silence was the worst part, it was too still…too suffocating. Alongside the silence came the guilt. The insidious feeling crept through his biocomponents and wrapped itself around his thirium pump like a snake causing it to constrict painfully. 

“I’m sorry… I should’ve protected you. I-I was different then…if I could go back…” his voice clouded over with a hurt he never knew he could feel. Emotions that he didn’t even realize he had been holding back came rushing to the surface with a jarring intensity. Gripping her hand tightly in both of his own, the words came spilling out of his mouth faster than he could process what he was saying. Confessions of love and pleas for her to wake up and come back to him were spaced between anguished sobs. That day he stayed well past visitor hours. None of the nurses on the floor had the heart to ask the heartbroken android to leave.

He resigned to stay there until she woke up, until she came back to him. His head resting against her hand the smallest hint of movement caused him to quickly sit up immediately scanning her for a change any change at all.

86%…

As he focused on her face he was met with tired Y/E/C eyes and a soft smile,”Hey robocop”.


End file.
